


Any Port in a Storm

by surprisepink



Category: Fire Emblem: Rekka no Ken | Fire Emblem: Blazing Sword
Genre: Flirting, M/M, generic winter holidays, heath is brooding legault is horny you know the usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:22:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22025518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surprisepink/pseuds/surprisepink
Summary: “You might be surprised to hear that I’m usually a good judge of character.”“No, I believe you. You ended up with this group for a reason, after all. It could very well be because you know they’re good people.”“Very kind words, coming from you. I thought you didn’t trust me?”“I don’t.”...After all he's been through, it's impossible for Heath not to feel alone in a crowd; Legault, for his part, seeks to change that.
Relationships: Heath/Legault (Fire Emblem)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	Any Port in a Storm

**Author's Note:**

> It doesn't matter too much, but this is meant to take place between their B and A supports!

With the war going on, there’s not much time to relax.

It doesn’t bother Heath, since it’s been a decade at _minimum_ since he’s truly relaxed. To be precise, it’s been fifteen years of honing his skills with the lance, ten years working as a soldier in various capacities, eight years riding a wyvern, and about six months now since he joined Lord Eliwood’s army.

It’s been a change, to say the least; Bern’s reputation for working it’s wyvern knights to the bone is well deserved. He had quickly become used to a routine of getting up before the sun and half-exhausting himself from training and miscellaneous drudgery before breakfast, and while mercenary life didn’t have such strict organization and demands, he had to do his damndest to keep up with a group of men that would have readily disowned him if he didn’t pull his weight.

Among this group there is a world of difference. He still rises at dawn and quickly made himself useful, but most of the time half of the army is still fast asleep and nobody is particularly expecting him to _be_ useful. Something about it is a type of calm that becomes overwhelming at times.At some point, once more people have awoken, there’s always a hello and good morning from _someone_ , and that still comes as a surprise every time. Half the time it’s Eliwood himself, who, Heath thinks, definitely has something better to do. It’s not unwelcome, but it feels wrong somehow, like he’s on the receiving end of a kindness he has not earned. Alliances can change at any time, and so can people’s minds, and that means he can never get comfortable, not again.

An exhausting mindset, but it’s for the best.

In any case, the group has just met victory, bittersweet as all victories are in war. They’re gathered at a tavern, twenty or so of them squeezed into a few tables in the corner, all various degrees of inebriated. All except for Heath, who is still nursing his first mug, vaguely watching Kent trying to stop his green friend from dancing on a table and generally staying out of the way and remaining inconspicuous.

It’s dark, and noisy, and he’s not particularly interested in drink, not now. The army is still so new, and there is safety to be found in keeping his guard up. He doesn’t fault the others if they feel the same way about him. So staying fully sober is the only real option, since he’s a sloppy drunk, and he knows it.

He accidentally makes eye contact with someone a table away, and his stomach sinks when he realizes it’s the same man he had narrowly avoiding having a heart-to-heart conversation with just a few days prior. Legault notices, of course, and pointently smirks.

As much as he had buttered him up the last time they spoke (“your eyes tell me that you’re sure what you do is right”, really?), Legault is probably mocking him tonight, because Legault has that air about him that he thinks he knows more than Heath does, and probably more than anybody else does, constantly, and Heath is inclined to hate him for that. Legault has better things to do then stab Heath in the back, in the literal sense, but would probably do so metaphorically if the time seemed right, and…

And Legault is walking right towards him.

Heath pretends to be very interested in examining his mead, still half full and now lukewarm. The plan backfires when Legault seats himself directly across from him and grabs the mug from his hands, taking a sip that’s almost dainty.

“Hmm. I didn’t take you for someone who likes sweet things.”

Heath yanks the mug from his hands, this time tucking it safely away from any further interference. “Why are you touching my drink?” He’s not mad -- it’s not worth getting mad over -- but his tone is harsh nonetheless.

“Why not?” Legault shrugs. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to poison it.”

“That’s not the point. Did you need something?”

Legault hums, his face unreadable. “You looked lonely.”

“I’m fine.” If Legault is genuinely concerned about his social life, he has a funny way of showing it.

“All right, you’re fine. And I’m lonely.”

...if Legault is genuinely looking for companionship, he has a funny way of showing it.

When Heath does not offer a response, he expects Legault to get up and walk away, but he does not, and Heath is forced to try to look at the table, the walls, Legault’s hands, anywhere that makes him look uninterested in what Legault has to say. In truth, he wonders -- wonders why Legault seems so determined to find out more about him, wonders if they really have something in common the way Legault seems to think -- but being involved with even a former member of the Black Fang seems like a fast track to disaster.

“It’s a holiday, you know,” Legault continues after a few minutes of a silence that only Heath appears to be uncomfortable with. He’s right, of course: it’s a traditional night of celebration for the Lycians in the group, that’s half the reason they bothered to spend time and money in a tavern tonight, but he’s not much for celebrations and he’s pretty sure the Fang isn’t either. It’s too loud, too crowded, and neither of them is in any position to let their guard down in the name of a party.

“I know what day it is,” Heath replies, voice flat.

Legault is twirling a few strands of his hair around a finger now, and Heath can’t help but wonder how he’s managed to keep it so smooth while on the run.. “You’re not much fun, are you?”

“I’ll leave that to you.”

“Hmm.”

He’s not leaving. Why isn’t he leaving?

“I told you I was lonely,” Legault helpfully supplies, and Heath is briefly terrified that Legault can read his thoughts, only to realize that his face is probably easy enough for Legault to read. To most people, he knows, he seems stoic, but to someone whose entire method of operation is to constantly be one step ahead of his opponent, it’s probably child’s play to keep track of his emotions.

The thought is frightening, and yet something about it is intriguing, thrilling even. He's never been anybody's first choice to seek out when they're lonely, and he’s never expected to be. This feeling of someone being curious to know him, of _being wanted_? That’s new.

Heath shrugs, forces himself to sound nonchalant. “Then stay, but I won’t be very interesting.”

“Ah, but I’m inclined to disagree. I find you very interesting, Heath.”

Legault’s taste leaves something to be desired, Heath thinks, but he sounds sincere enough, though everything that comes out of Legault’s mouth sounds like he might be just moments away from taking it back.

“You’re really set on us having something in common, huh?”

“In a manner of speaking. It’s more than that, though.”

“Because you’re a thief, and you want to get to know everyone in the army just in case you need that information later,” Heath says, not one to mince words.

“Sure, sure. Is that all?”

“Isn’t that enough? Your kind works from the shadows, a far cry from those of us who are trained as knights.” Legault does not object. “And… you’re odd. Talking to a stranger as if he’s an old friend.”

“I may end up in a position where I have to kill some old friends soon enough, so I certainly hope not.” The comment seems to come to him easily, and Heath can’t help but wince a bit; can he really talk about such things so openly? The knowledge of his own former comrades’ death still weighs heavy on Heath’s heart.

“Fine, then what would you call it? The way you talk to me, that is.”

A hint of mischief lights up Legault’s eyes. “What would _you_?”

Realization comes to him then, all at once. “Are you flirting with me?” he says, flatly. God, Legault really is somehow one step ahead of him, even when he thinks he’s controlling the conversation for once.

“Oh!” Legault replies in what is most definitely mock surprise, “I was wondering when you would notice.”

It’s almost embarrassing that he didn’t pick up on it more quickly, but to his credit, Heath can count the number of people that have openly flirted with him on one hand, and most of them were strangers who were likely interested in bedding a knight, any knight, rather than having any type of personal investment in _him_. Legault knows him, sort of, and is still interested, evidently. It’s almost flattering.

All right, it _is_ flattering.

“You have bad taste in men,” is what finally comes out of Heath’s mouth after he stumbles over a few false starts, and Legault laughs, long and low.

“I do! But I don’t say that because of you, believe me,” he says between chuckles

“What, you’ve done worse than a deserter who you accused of hating you, oh, two days ago?”

“The saints know I’ve had plenty of chances to do worse than you.”

There’s no denying that, and Heath holds himself back from asking just what kind of illicit sexual activities went on within the Black Fang. He’s not sure he wants to know.

Legault seems more relaxed now, his chin leaning on his hand and his body practically draped over his chair. The mug he’d brought with him is now empty, although Heath has the distinct feeling that he can hold his alcohol well enough that it’s not having much of an effect. Smiles seem to come easy to him, easier than most people, Heath has noticed. At first it had seemed like his constant expression was a smirk, as if he was always one step ahead of everyone else and he _knew_ it; the more they talk, the more he wonders if sometimes that smile might be genuine.

“You might be cute if you weren’t so weird.”

At that, Legault’s grin widens, like the cat who has caught the canary.

“I told you already, I think we have a lot in common. You’re free to disagree,” Legault says, leaning closer, close enough that their legs are almost touching and he could easily hug Heath or strangle him, should he choose. “You might be surprised to hear that I’m usually a good judge of character.”

“No, I believe you. You ended up with this group for a reason, after all. It could very well be because you know they’re good people.”

“Very kind words, coming from you. I thought you didn’t trust me?”

“I don’t.”

“One day I’ll figure out what it takes. I hope you’ll look forward to it.” Heath can’t help but chuckle at that; if Legault’s such a good judge of character he knows that will be an uphill battle. “Don’t laugh, I’m quite serious!”

Something flutters deep in Heath’s chest at the thought; even as his best judgement tells him to politely decline the advances, there’s a rebellious stirring in his heart that wants to welcome Legault in, to challenge him to tear his walls down. It’s been so very long. “If you’re serious, prove it.”

He half expects some sort of witty comeback, and half expects to be told something that almost sounds sincere. Instead, Legault takes his hand and brings it to his lips.

Time seems to move in slow motion and all that Heath can focus on the feeling of Legault’s breath on his skin and the way his stomach ties itself in a knot. He shouldn’t be surprised that Legault rose to the challenge so directly and yet he _is_ surprised, because it seems so straightforward, so sincere. And now he’s kissing Heath again, on the wrist this time, glancing up to meet Heath’s eyes, a fire in his gaze as if he’s challenging Heath to push him away.

It feels wrong; as a knight it’s only appropriate that Heath be the one kissing someone’s hand, and for that someone to be a lady he is politely interacting with in broad daylight. Here in the dark, drunk on the atmosphere if nothing else, such an act feels inappropriately intimate.

Fuck, he hopes he’s not blushing.

What happens next is brief, gentle: Legault presses his lips against Heath’s own and they’re far softer than they have any right to be. By the time his thoughts catch up to his rapidly beating heart, Heath already has a hand on the back of Legault’s head, pulling him in again for a deeper kiss.

There’s no logic to it, no good reason to want to bring Legault closer, but the little sound of shock Legault makes as Heath gently nips at his lower lip is so _delicious_ and it’s the first and maybe the last time Heath has felt like he’s had an upper hand tonight.

It’s Legault who pulls away, surprisingly, though he doesn’t go very far and keeps a hand on Heath’s thigh. “Really, Heath? In public?” he asks, words harsh but tone syrupy sweet.

Heath’s tongue flicks out to lick his own lips; Legault is free to feign objection all he wants, but he was the one who started it. His face is still set in the same almost-smirk that never seems to leave, but his cheeks are flushed; that’s new.

“You didn’t seem like you’d mind.”

“Believe me, I don’t.”

It occurs to Heath that he wants companionship, desperately; wants that camaraderie that his old unit has, only more concrete, less fragile. Legault isn’t that, not even close, but he’s here and he’s warm and he seems to like Heath, evidently. They’re not friends yet, barely even comrades, but in time...

The rest of the world seems to slowly fade back in as Legault finally pulls away fully. He’s on his feet a moment after that, and Heath already misses his warmth.

“Where are you going?” Heath asks, and he hopes he doesn’t sound too desperate.

“I have some matters to attend to,” Legault says, simply; Heath strongly suspects that’s his way of saying that he needs to collect his thoughts, and the idea that he may have actually overwhelmed Legault is an exciting one. “But I’m sure I need not remind you that we have private rooms rented tonight.”

Heath waves him away, rolling his eyes, but his mind is racing. Legault _had_ said he was lonely, and maybe that was the truth. He’s not ready to admit that he’s lonely, too, and certainly not ready to admit that he’s becoming intrigued about what could be, between them. They fit together about as well as mismatched puzzle pieces, but maybe those pieces are part of the same picture after all.

Legault will have to wait for him for a while, in his private room. It would do him some good to wonder, the way he makes Heath wonder.

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfic is a gift, and that gift is for me, in middle school, because I have loved these fine gentlemen for too long. Fire Emblem romance truly peaked in 2003.
> 
> Elibe stans follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/seraphknights) PLEASE.


End file.
